A Day of Meaning
by nikkixsensei
Summary: What do you get for the man who, on the surface, has everything? A Christmas story and gift for all Lizzington shippers. Happy New Year!


_"Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends."_

 _\- Margaret Thatcher_

* * *

Her smile tinged with equal delight and anxiety, Elizabeth stared at the perfectly wrapped gift, complete with a red and golden bow, atop the remaining pile beneath the Christmas tree and took a step back, worrying the scar on her wrist.

She felt as if she hadn't celebrated the holiday properly in a lifetime when, in truth, only three years had passed. In Red's case, however, the spirit and joy accompanying the season were things he'd been deprived of for decades. That he took the first in a series of intermediate steps to change that for reasons not entirely selfish warmed her heart. Not only had he secured a log cabin residence with multiple bedrooms for Christmas as well as New Year's, but also with Dembe he decorated the property with multiple-colored light strands among other accents.

This year would mark Elle's first proper Christmas, and the patriarchs were determined to make it a nice one for her. It was weird to think of Dembe being a grandfather given that he was only a couple of years older than her. Even weirder was Red being a great-grandfather.

During the early morning hours, they frequented the local shops, each time departing with several bags. From the afternoon well into the evening, Red and Dembe worked around the yard, clearing paths, cutting trees, and stocking up on firewood. She worked in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches for lunch, dinner, and warm beverages for when they came in shuffling.

It was nice to see Red investing so much, knowing of the memories and pain that the season evoked. Replacing the three-piece suits and fedoras were form-fitting stonewash jeans, long-sleeve henley tops, puffer vests, heavy knit caps, and traditional work boots.

The man could make anything look good.

She couldn't recall seeing either him or Dembe laugh or smile as frequently. There were no secrets between them, no mysteries or boundaries of any kind. Their positive energy was infectious and palpable. It was easier to forget or nearly forget all of the stress and burdens of life as a former agent, turned fugitive.

In a matter of weeks, she experienced a degree of joy she couldn't quantify only because she wasn't aware of its existence. The relief upon escaping Wendigo's clutches, subsequently waiting until she was at a safe distance before abandoning the vehicle she hijacked, locating a payphone which she used to call Red, and then cautiously navigating the streets before finding and embracing him was eclipsed exactly twenty days later when all vestiges of energy, all hope, were seemingly lost - all that they'd worked so hard for evaporated by one miscalculation.

Her former partner, the one person aside from Red who she thought would never turn on her, pointed a gun in her face, threatening to effectively turn her over to the Cabal after promising the exact opposite months prior. She closed her eyes, blinking away the onslaught of tears, and opened them when a single shot resounded in the quiet air and Ressler no longer towered over her prone form. Rolling carefully onto her left hip, she felt before actually seeing Red. Ever precise, he fired a single round into Ressler's shoulder which both incapacitated him and afforded plenty of time to make her escape.

And she did.

Quickly getting to her feet, she caught sight of a brown pickup parked on the stretch of highway and ran in its direction, anticipating the sight of Red who she had spent the day valiantly searching for. Spotting his fedora first and finally the man himself, thankfully not worse for the wear, she raced toward his open arms. Returning his gun to the holster at the rear of his waist, he gently hoisted her off the ground when she was close enough and nestled her hair with his nose, breathing her in, fighting back tears of his own.

 _We're okay._

The sentiment unspoken hung in the air.

Words weren't necessary; rarely, they were now. They anticipated each other's thoughts, mirrored each other's actions, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if they had always been at one another's side.

Reluctantly breaking contact, Red kept a hand at her elbow as he led her to the pickup and ensured she was settled in before rounding the driver's side, settling behind the wheel, and driving off, keeping only his left hand on the soft leather while taking one of her hands in his right.

Always a step ahead, Red placed a call to Baz and his security team who successfully tracked the route upon which Dembe was being transported and extracted him with minimal incident. They were reunited within a day's time, leading to their current station.

There were so many facets to Red's character, his identity. Just when you got familiar or as accustomed with one side as time allowed, he would show you another. Despite living in a realm of near-constant complexity, he preferred simple and traditional. He was a man of ideals, principled, honorable despite having to on occasion resort to less than honorable measures, well-traveled, and well-read. Technology didn't interest him, but he put the mp3 player he received from Dembe years earlier to good use, plugging the slim device into the outside speaker system while they worked.

Lizzie smiled, recalling when she'd woken in the hospital to find the buds in her ear.

Her outline was thorough, more than enough, to attest to the type of man he was. As for how she accomplished bringing those details into the light, his assertion on the ship weeks ago echoed in her mind.

 _When I look at you, that's what I see. I see my way home._

She rationalized that, through her, Red was rediscovering parts of himself that by his estimation the years had stripped away. If not for being rendered speechless, she would've told him just how wrong he was. The 'Raymond Reddington' from the past and the 'Red' she knew now, she deduced, were one and the same.

He placed a premium on loyalty and was selfless when the lives of those he loved and cared about were at risk. To be among those people was truly a gift, an irreplaceable one at that.

The night of their arrival, one of the first topics raised was sleeping arrangements. Maybe it was presumptuous on her part to assume that she and Red would share the same room. It was part of their routine after all, and after a day synonymous with hell she couldn't stand to be separated from him. She thought he felt similarly but was taken aback when he practically ordered rather than suggested that she take the room across from his; if not the same, she at least wanted to take the adjoining room, but he assigned that to Dembe, the men exchanging a look. Isabella and Elle would have the suite at the far end of the hall. That was the only choice that made sense to her.

Red was an intensely guarded, private man, she knew. If he wanted space, room to breathe, that was fine. If the situation was reversed, she wouldn't want him to question her motivations either, but intuition informed her that there was a second layer to the request.

Three nights later, she discovered exactly what that layer was.

Screams and desperate cries ripped her from her sleep. Instantly, she reached for her gun which she now kept beneath her pillow and released it as her senses attuned.

There were no intruders on the premises.

Gauging by their directionality, the horrible sounds were coming from Red's room, and panic filled her. By the time she crossed the main hallway and reached his door, Dembe's shouts began to overlap, creating a rather violent score. Isabella came out as well, cradling Elle who was calm close. Twisting the handle, she nearly gasped to find him restraining Red, grasping his shoulders and calling his name repeatedly, hoping to coax him out of the nightmare he was trapped in.

She sensed alarm in the atmosphere, but absent was the element of surprise.

Dembe seemed prepared, as if he expected an episode like this to occur. In all of the occasions of their sharing a living space, never had she seen Red in this state or anything resembling it. Then again, he never truly relaxed either. She didn't need a full hand to count how many times she glanced over to find him dozing. Seeing him now, no wonder he hardly let his guard down or allowed himself to relax.

And the realization saddened her.

By the time she gathered her composure and began to move toward them, Red started awake and looked at Dembe, his eyes wide from shock and breathing ragged. Neither man seemed aware of their presence.

She heard him whisper, "It's okay, Raymond. You're okay."

Lizzie and Isabella remained in the doorway, both feeling helpless.

After some time, Red collapsed in Dembe's arms, covering his face with both hands, and the latter held him as sobs wracked his body, his shoulders shaking. Quietly crossing the threshold, Isabella remained in the hall while she rounded the right side of the bed and sat along the edge. Immediately, Dembe signaled that she remain still and silent.

How often did Red endure this, she wondered.

She was desperate to reach out for him, offer him comfort. Subsequently, in consideration of all of these factors, her resolve to make this holiday a special one for him strengthened. She wasn't positive of how just yet.

What do you get for the person who, on the surface, has everything?

She'd monopolized so much time second-guessing, postulating "What if?" scenarios one after another, until she realized that changing the past meant foregoing all he had given her, erasing what he represented and symbolized.

Red was her protector, her partner, and most importantly her friend.

Her soul mate.

Perusing through her notepad, consisting of prep lists and gift itineraries, the image of him sitting behind the projector came to mind, and she knew. She knew in that moment what her gift to him would be, but it was a plan she couldn't execute on her own.

So, she approached Dembe and explained the particulars to him.

His beaming smile put her at ease.

"It sounds perfect for Raymond, Elizabeth."

Within the hour, he contacted Borakove and forwarded all of the requisite materials. Four days later, when they returned from another trip to town, the parcel arrived, and everything was falling into the place.

The sound of laughter tore her from her reverie.

Turning on her heels, she smiled at the sight of Red and Elle together. Never did she think she would use his name and adorable in the same sentence, but the evidence was before her eyes. Wanting to capture it, she retrieved her Canon from the coffee table, verifying that it was still set to monochrome, and took multiple images of them. Red's smile was so open. She pictured him as a younger man with Jennifer, and her eyes glistened much like Dembe and Isabella's were now as they stood just off to the side, both holding saucers and utensils for dessert.

The pair of pies, sweet potato and pecan, were fresh from the oven. And yes, the latter was fixed according to Chewy's recipe.

Elle pressed both of her hands to his face, smiling brightly, as Red continued to sing to her.

Adjusting the knob, she shot a few minutes of video as well before switching out from live view and reviewing the still frames. She smiled at her work, her thoughts going to Sam. He loved to take photographs. Wherever they went, he made sure that he had a camera with him. In time, she began to appreciate it as well. For her tenth birthday, he'd given her a Holga, and soon after 'shooting runs' became a part of their routine.

 _Don't think. Just shoot what you see_.

That was his philosophy.

While he experimented with all styles, soft focus and portraits being his favorites, black and white photography interested her the most. There was a purity to it that she loved. She argued that subtle nuances, intimacies, and the human condition were captured best. In the beginning, she focused on the abstract, landscaping, nature, elements, and the like. Gradually, her style became more conceptual, her shift gravitating toward people, their behaviors, and their interactions. She continued to balance between the two until her senior year of high school.

She still loved the craft and wished she had more time for it.

Red, as always, seemed to be aware of that and surprised her with what he described as an early Christmas package: the Rebel EOS T5, three 64GB memory cards, a set of filters, tripod, and ring light. She'd used the time well, sneaking multiple shots of her favorite men as they worked in the yard along with photos of the property before, in-progress, and after all of the decorations were put up, Isabella and Elle, and then the four of them together.

Blinking, she turned the device off, returning it to its prior position, and caught Red's eye while walking over to the pair. Elle dropped her head to Red's chest, watching her as she drew closer to them. Stroking the baby's cheek, she studied him for a moment and leaned in for an embrace which he returned with his free arm. Her head fell to his shoulder, and unconsciously the trio began to sway to the music.

"What were you thinking about?"

His voice was low and deep, the question rhetorical more than anything else.

Closing her eyes as they moved, she replied. "This is as close to normal as it gets, isn't it? For us, I mean. After the next couple of weeks, if nothing happens and no one finds out where we are, we have to walk away from all of this. We have to start running all over again."

Sighing against her, he nodded and asked. "You still trust me, Lizzie?"

Reluctantly, she lifted her head to examine his expression.

He was serious.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Do you trust me, or not?" The silence stretched between them which in their code translated as 'yes'. "It's difficult, Lizzie. I know, but I promise we won't be running much longer - well, you won't be. Nothing else matters to me besides clearing your name."

It was her turn to sigh. "I wish I could help you, do for you what you're doing for me."

He laughed, and she felt the deep vibrations in his chest as he did so. "Don't worry about me, my dear. I'm comfortable with where I am."

Clinging to him tightly, they moved again.

"How can you be?"

Elle lifted her head from his chest and was now looking between them, perhaps sensing the change in mood. Children were so perceptive and weren't properly credited for that. Looking over his shoulder, she watched Isabella make herself comfortable on one of the couches while Dembe remained standing. Their eyes met.

"Decades of practice."

Mimicking him, she chewed her lip.

 _In between us is our little girl, I'm holding her hand in mine, and I never let go._

"Don't you ever want more?"

"I had more. Once."

"They're still with you, Red. You don't forget them, ever. You carry them with you. Maybe you could talk about them sometime. I'd love to hear stories." The atmosphere lightened as the words flowed, and she was happy to feel him chuckling.

"Anything you'd like. And I do. I think of them often." He trailed off, working his jaw. "I miss them. Whenever I drove Jennifer to the ballet studio, she would ask question after another, wanting to know what her daddy was doing while away, whether or not I missed her which I did of course. At night, when I tucked her in, she'd ask when I'd stop traveling so that we could be together, be a real family. I missed out on so much of her life and regret that. She deserved better, as did Carla."

Everyone's eyes were on Red. Dembe was now sitting next to Isabella, having brought in both pies and resting them on the main table.

"Like you, she didn't like to have things go unexplained." He joked while remaining earnest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you actually do remind me of her."

She smiled.

His not being her father was a long-resolved issue. It was only an issue because she was, in hindsight, stupid to have asked the question in the first place, a concession that she would never share with Red. Early on, neither her perception of him nor their interactions indicated that type of connection. The only explanation she could offer was that she wanted something easy to grasp to in trying to figure out and understand what made him care for her so much.

Easy and truth, however, aren't synonymous.

How could she have forgotten that?

"I'm honored, Red. Really. Do you have any pictures of them, something tangible to remember them by?"

He shook his head. "I have my old wedding band which I wear on a chain invariably. A select few home recordings along with some documents, pamphlets from Jennifer's recitals, are all that's left, apart from memories of course. I've only managed to review a couple, and surprisingly the quality's excellent. As for the others, well I guess I'll never know."

Taking a breath to steady himself, he looked up to find Lizzie staring back at him not with the empathy he expected, but the polar opposite: her beautiful smile. Turning to his left, he found Dembe and Isabella doing the same.

Only Elle shared his confusion.

"I have something for you." Lizzie said, taking his hand and leading him to sit down on the couch before moving to the tree. Handing him the very gift he caught her eyeing more than once, she claimed the space next to him, checking with Isabella that it was okay before offering to take Elle from him.

Hers and Dembe's eyes lit with anticipation piqued his curiosity.

With great care, not wanting to make a complete mess of the wrapping paper, he extricated the bow from the top before carefully pulling each layer of paper back and away before unveiling a slim case. Inside was a disc.

"Is this..."

Incredulous and awe best described Red's expression as his gaze alternated from her to Dembe and finally back to her.

"Dembe and I called in a few favors, and we had your recordings restored and transferred to DVD. We know how fond you are of the...'old and somewhat decrepit' I believe were your exact words. I know what it's like to go without having an actual record of your life, the events, and that's not something I'd wish for anyone, especially you. With this, I hope you not only remember what you had, but also know what you can have again."

Removing the disc from its case, Red examined the front side before turning it over, marveling as a vinyl collector would.

"I don't know what to say."

Seeing him swallow thickly, she raised a hand to his face, running her thumb along his stubble which she loved and thought suited him. He looked at her.

"Thank you, Lizzie."

Turning to Dembe, he thanked him as well and then, holding the disc as if it were the most delicate item in the world, asked. "Do you think we could watch this?"

Seeing this side of Raymond Reddington was a perk she could get used to.

Dembe motioned for her to stay where she was. He took the disc from Red, inserted it into the player tray, and adjusted the television's input accordingly. Returning Elle to him, Lizzie edged closer and smiled when he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her as close as possible to him. She rested one of her hands on his knee and squeezed it lightly, her eyes never leaving his.

Watching wouldn't be easy.

They both knew that.

Comprising the disc's opening chapter was a montage of still photos from the early days of his and Carla's relationship, their wedding, the home they shared, and then their daughter's birth. The final image showcased the three of them in happier times before fading out. Subsequent was footage of Red holding Jennifer as a newborn in what appeared to be a nursery.

Silence filled the background. Presumably, Carla was holding the camera. The only sounds to register at all were Jennifer's soft cries mixed with his voice as he tried soothing her. Similar to Elle who was nestled comfortably against Red now, Jennifer quieted almost immediately. He was at peace, perfectly content.

The ugliness of the world hadn't touched him yet, she observed.

Diverting her attention to Red as the disc played on, she mentally catalogued the changes in him as he reconnected with his lost family: his smiles, his laughter, his eyes brightening during her dance recitals, games in the backyard, and soirées with relatives and neighbors, the look of pride and then contemplation, longing.

It just goes to show how precarious life is.

Circumstances were taken out of his control, and he paid a heavy price after having done nothing except abide by the moral compass she so admired - they both did. Fate brought them together; even with the losses, she wouldn't dare classify the twist as a cruel one.

From each discovery, a positive emerged.

Now, she couldn't envision him being anything but in control or foresee that he would fall prey to anyone's misguided notion of democracy or justice, even with the rather cataclysmic road her decision to shoot the Attorney General put them on. One could argue that her actions were more commiserate of someone who was baited rather than someone capable of thinking rationally, except that wasn't the case at all.

Yes, Connolly threatened the lives of her friends, her colleagues, people she cared about, but leveling those threats toward Red was a different league. The mentions of 'treason' and 'death penalty' coupled with his name set her off, simultaneously sealing his demise.

That was one bullet she would never wish to take back.

One choice she would never regret.

Shifting slightly to better peer into Red's face, instantly she took it in each of hers, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears that fell silently. Angling herself so that their foreheads could touch, she caressed the back of his head with one hand while keeping the other on his cheek as he held her tighter.

"Sshhh..." She whispered, wanting nothing but to assure him that he had her.

She would be his anchor.

"Should I stop it, Raymond?" Dembe asked.

"No, Dembe. Let it play." Red answered, savoring Lizzie's touch. The disc was nearing the end. Playing now was the very roll of footage he watched after repairing the projector. It was the last he had shot before all was upended.

Despite the tears, he couldn't help but smile.

His Lizzie was right, except for one point. While there was no measure of undoing the past, or reclaiming it, surrounding him was a most precious equivalent.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Raymond Reddington enjoyed Christmas with his family.

 **THE END**


End file.
